Almost.....Most of All.

Almost...Most Of All.

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Almost a rock staropening for many greatsand standing all toldin front of well over three hundred thousand in my lifesinging my heart outin bursting staccato beatsand watching the masses moveand most all of it was good

Almost a poetyet words still ooze from my soulas if to coverthe wretched editorswho force me into thebindings of a pink slipyet for them Idance across more pagesand spill more thoughtsto the music of lifeand if most all of ithas moved othersto see my muse....what more can I ask?

Almost an actorfeet treading many boardsin multiple varied stagesfrom bit parts to major rolestelevision and radio workunder my beltbut adding little caloriesyet still to besomeone else for several hoursand live another worldis mostly the reasonwhy I ever donned the grease paintand crossed the temporary portalinto anothers life.

Almost an artistwith thousands of works soldall over the worldbut knowing full well that until my palette is dryand I lie in a tumbled sculpture of bonesonly then may I be recognizedand given the acclaimdeserved for most allthat I did.

Almost a dreamerbut war sucks the visionsout of my cringing fleshas I watch boys and girls dieand loved ones cryover useless causeson foreign soilsthat I have also tasted in other landsin other timesthe scars mar the dreamsand most all of what I cherish mostwhen I view possibilitiesis but a dreamthat almost came true.

Almost done with this workand most all seems to touch on what I meant to saybut so much more leaves me wordless and so I closeat almost 4:00 P.M.

I pause in my journey to the grave of my friend, to commemorate his birthday in a mid-December snowfall. The trees are skeletons beyond the gate coated in white.
It is as if the bones, buried far below, have...